“Those days are passed. They all have cropped hair except your favorite Countess Visichich.”
“She’d do nicely. Still, if we were to raise some sort of disturbance—”
“Have to be a good deal of disturbance before it would be heard over this excitement.”
“Couldn’t we set the house on fire?”
“That’s arson. After all, we’re not criminals, and there’s strong practical objection in that we’d probably be burned up in it before they noticed.”
“Yes, but if we made a smudge, and they thought it was on fire—”
“I’m afraid there’d still be more chance of smothering ourselves than of attracting their attention.”
He gave up the idea, then, and we both sat down gloomily to wait. The crowd outside calmed down, and little by little it thinned, as the excitement faded. The Black Ghost went into the house next door, and his troop sat their horses under our window. The mob was still disturbed, and from time to time a new center of argument would bubble up, and die out again after a few shouts. The presence of the black masked horsemen was wonderfully soothing.
At last the key turned again in the lock and the doctor reappeared. “This way, gentlemen, if you please,” he said. John rose a little unsteadily, and we followed the doctor down a corridor, and through two rooms and a heavy door in a thick wall, into a dining room. Behind a long table, in a high-backed, red-cushioned chair, sat Fakat Zol in state. Around him were grouped three of his followers in their outlandish uniform, and several men of the town, looking very important with reflected mystery.
The Black Ghost spoke in a somewhat husky voice. “We meet again, a little sooner than I expected.”